


Breath and Wine

by EmLeeKoe



Series: Jess and Thomas's post-canon adventures [2]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Bad Cooking, Baking, Breathing, Cooking, Crying, Dinner, Drinking, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Party, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump, Wine, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmLeeKoe/pseuds/EmLeeKoe
Summary: Thomas and Jess host a dinner party for their friends, the first time they're all together since Khalila and Dario's wedding, but something goes wrong.
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif, Jess Brightwell/Thomas Schreiber
Series: Jess and Thomas's post-canon adventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696276
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Breath and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this as "Air and Wine," then took it down because I decided I didn't like it. But I reworked it a bit and I like it better now!

** JESS **

“Admit it,” said Jess, pouring chocolate batter into a baking tin. Hints of cinnamon mingled with the smell of the dark cocoa. “I’m getting good at cooking.”

“You tried to use salt instead of sugar!” Thomas opened the oven so Jess could slide the traybake inside. “And that’s _baking_ , not _cooking_.”

“You may have a point,” he conceded. “But the batter tastes good, at least. Also, shut up.” He couldn’t hold back a grin.

His friend laughed. “I can’t wait to try it.” Thomas met his eyes and grinned, then turned back to the chicken breasts sizzling in a heavy cast-iron frying pan on the stove. The scents of garlic, olives, and sun-dried tomatoes wafted through the room. “It’s good we’re finally all getting together for a meal.”

“It’s long past due,” Jess agreed, wringing out a soapy rag to wipe down the table. When he finished, he shook out a white linen tablecloth and spread it across the polished wood, then fetched a stack of plates and set one at each place. That done, he went for the wine goblets next.

“ _Sche_ _i_ _ße_ ,” Thomas cursed, watching Jess struggle to carry eight glasses from the cupboard to the table. “That’s what I forgot!”

“What is?” Jess barely managed to set all the glasses down without dropping any.

“ _Der Wein!_ ” He seemed truly upset with himself. “This dinner would have been _perfekt._ ”

Jess didn’t speak much German, but the words were self-explanatory. “How could you forget the wine for an occasion _Christopher Wolfe_ will be attending?” he asked dramatically.

It had the desired result, and Thomas grinned. “Not to mention Dario.”

Jess groaned, remembering how intoxicated Dario had become the last time they’d gone to the pub together. He’d practically had to carry the bastard home.

“Come on,” said Jess with a glance at the clock, “we have time to go to the market and buy some, if we hurry.”

Thomas removed the heavy pan from the stove one-handed, as if it weighed nothing, and set it on a trivet. “Are you sure?” He was already fetching a wad of money from the porcelain jar where they kept their grocery funds.

“They’re not coming for two hours yet,” said Jess. “Even if we walked, we’d make it back in less than that.”

“We could use a walk,” Thomas said thoughtfully as he pulled on his boots. “Walk there, hire a carriage back?”

“Deal.” Jess locked the door behind them as they left.

The day was bright and sunny, as most days in Alexandria were, and by the time they reached the open-air market, Jess felt the skin on his cheekbones beginning to burn; his fair London skin had tempered to the Alexandrian climate only so much. When he’d first come here, he could count the freckles on his pale face, but now there were constellations and galaxies of them.

They took their time chatting with the wine merchant and selecting several winking bottles of reds and whites, some sweet but most dry, all more expensive than the wine they usually purchased. This was the first time they would all gather together since Dario and Khalila’s wedding over a month ago, and they wanted it to be special.

When they’d finished, Thomas paid and accepted the wooden crate, full of bottles nestled in hay for cushioning. They stopped by a florist’s stall so Thomas could pick out a bouquet of fresh flowers to grace their dinner table, then Jess hailed a steam carriage, and they were off home.

The friends arrived at their townhouse an hour and a half after they’d left, having strolled much more leisurely, and spending considerably more time selecting the wines, than either of them had anticipated.

“Get the door, would you, Jess?” Thomas passed a handful of coins to the driver, took the crate from the carriage floor, and followed Jess inside.

The moment Jess stepped into the kitchen, he knew something was wrong. A haze filled the air, and a horrid smell accompanied it.

“What is that?” Thomas set down the crate and covered his nose and mouth with his elbow.

Jess ran to the stove and checked the burners; they were all off.

Then he remembered his traybake.

“ _Damn,_ ” he hissed as he pulled the oven open, barely remembering to grab an oven mitt before taking out the tray of what looked like spent charcoal. Smoke billowed from the oven and choked the air, choked _him_ ; he set the tray down and bent over, hands on his knees, coughing—and suddenly, he was dying. Drowning in his own juices. He couldn’t breathe, and his chest hurt, all the way to his core, his lungs being ripped apart with every breath. He forgot where and when he was, and all he knew was that this was the end.

** THOMAS **

When Jess set the burnt pan of erstwhile dessert on the stove, Thomas snatched it up, shielding his hand with a rag, and ran out the back door; hissing in pain as the heat of the pan seared his fingers through the thin cloth, he dropped the pan on the grass in the back garden, then shook out his reddened hand as he walked back inside, leaving the double glass doors wide open. Crossing to the front of the house, he opened the front door as well, and then the large window in the sitting room. There was a nice breeze today, so the smoke would clear out soon. He could have kicked himself for forgetting about the traybake; he and Jess had been planning this dinner for so long, and they’d both wanted everything to be perfect for their friends—their adopted family. They could do without, of course, and perhaps he could find some biscuits in the pantry, but it would have been nice to have the fresh-baked dessert.

Returning to the kitchen where Jess sat on the tile floor, he turned on the cold tap and let the water run over his burned fingers. They didn’t look too bad, and probably wouldn’t even properly blister. He reached for a cupboard with his free hand and pulled out a vase, which he filled with water for the flowers.

“It’s alright, Jess,” he said, savoring the coolness of the water on his tender skin. “I’m sure no one will mind not having dessert. We can make it another time.” He turned to shoot a smile at his friend, then realized Jess wasn’t just sitting there because he was disappointed or dejected. He wasn’t _there_ at all. His body curled on the floor, back against the cupboards, but Thomas could instantly tell that his mind was somewhere far away.

“Jess?” He turned off the water, dried his hands, then crouched before his friend.

Jess clutched his chest, coughing, staring into space, eyes shining too brightly out of his agonized face; he didn’t seem to have heard.

Thomas coughed too, the smoke irritating his throat. “Let’s get out of the smoke, _ja?_ ” He held out a hand, but Jess didn’t take it. He was gasping for air, holding onto himself as if he would fall apart.

And suddenly, Thomas knew what this was about.

He stood and began rifling through the cupboard where they kept their medicines and medical supplies. “Where is that damned thing?” he muttered to himself, and he couldn’t help feeling as if time were running out, as if his friend was dying, even though he knew it wasn’t true. An invisible fist squeezed his heart as he shoved bottles aside, pulled out bandage rolls, searching—and then he found it.

He knelt beside Jess and pressed the mask to his face. “It’s alright, Jess. Breathe,” he demanded, a little more sharply than perhaps he should have. Fear tightened his chest as he relived how he’d felt when he’d almost lost his best friend. _He’s alright. He’s going to be fine,_ he told himself, and he had to repeat it a dozen times before he began to believe it, but his heart still pounded, the floor tilting ever so slightly under his feet.

The mask that the Medica had given Jess, to prolong his seemingly inevitable death from the poison gas in the Archivist’s office, had long since lost any medicinal or alchemical effectiveness. But something inside him, something that still remembered the prison all too vividly, had told him that he should keep it on hand. He didn’t know why Jess would need it now that he was cured, but he’d listened to his instincts. And it was paying off.

One of Jess’s hands fluttered up to hold the mask in a white-knuckled grip, clamping it to his face as if he would suffocate without it, but his breathing didn’t slow.

“Come on,” said Thomas softly, pulling Jess up by the elbow; he remained stiff at first, but then let Thomas unfold him and lead him slowly, shakily, out to sit on the edge of the terrace. Thomas sat beside him and rubbed slow circles on his heaving back as sweat soaked through his shirt, until finally, his breathing began to slow.

Jess lowered the mask, and it shook in his grip, then slipped from his fingers and tumbled into the grass before them; he ran the same shaking hand through his hair, now slicked with sweat, still clutching his chest with the other.

“Jess,” Thomas said, “are you here with me?”

Slowly, slowly, Jess turned his head to look at Thomas with faraway, exhausted eyes. He seemed to take a moment to understand, but his eyes cleared and he finally nodded. Thomas’s large hand was still on his back; he could feel his friend trembling as he bent forward to rest his forehead on his knees.

From the front of the house, he heard a knock on the open door, and a voice calling “Hello? Are you being burgled?”

“Glain’s here,” he said. “Will you be alright?”

Jess nodded, but didn’t get up. “Need—a moment,” Thomas heard him say, his voice quiet and hoarse.

** GLAIN **

Glain could tell instantly that something was wrong. Even if it weren’t for the lingering smell of badly burnt food and the front door standing wide open, she would have divined it from Thomas’s face when he came to greet her.

“Glain! So good to see you!” He lifted her off the ground in a bear hug, which she knew was no easy feat, especially with the extra muscle weight she’d put on since he had last done so. The intense physical training ensured that she would always have a leg up on the High Garda soldiers she trained, and that she would be able to face any foes that might arise. It helped to keep the nagging fears at bay.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in place of a greeting; when he set her down her hand went to her hip, where she usually had a knife, and when her fingers brushed against cloth instead of a leather sheath, she felt oddly naked.

Thomas’s smile faltered for a moment, but only a moment. “Oh, nothing,” he said, leading her toward the dining room with a heavy arm around her shoulders. “Come, I’ll pour you a glass of wine. Dry red is what you prefer, yes? _Wunderbar_.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” she noted as he worked a corkscrew into the bottle. “Where’s Jess?”

“He’s just taking a moment, outside.” Thomas popped out the cork with what looked like no effort at all, then tilted a goblet and poured deep red wine into it.

The sound of wine splashing into a glass always made Glain’s mouth water. She accepted the glass with a nod of thanks.

“I’ll go say hello,” she said, ensuring that her tone made it impossible to argue.

Thomas’s smile faltered again. “Alright,” he conceded, most likely because he knew Glain wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I’ll warm the food.”

“I hope that’s not what smells like smoke.” She grinned with one side of her mouth.

“No, that was Jess’s traybake.”

She shook her head. “I always said that boy would never learn to cook.”

“Ha,” he replied humorlessly.

Glain stepped through the double doors onto the back terrace, the sound of ironware clinking and scraping behind her.

Jess stood looking out across the garden, leaning against one of the supports for the vine-covered pergola that shaded the terrace. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt as if he’d been doing hard physical labor under the hot Alexandrian sun.

“Hello, brother,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass.

Jess flinched visibly, then turned around, grinning. It was a mask, she could instantly tell, and it hurt to see, hurt to know that he would never tell her what was wrong.

“Glain,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “So good to see you!”

“It’s been too long,” she agreed. “I hear you burned our dessert to a crisp.”

“Ah,” he said, a flicker of uncertainty flashing through his tired eyes. “Yes.” He chuckled, and it was unsteady, but at least somewhat genuine. “I’m not going to live that down, am I?” The pallor of his face called up memories she preferred not to recall.

“Never.” She grinned and sipped her wine.

“Ah, well. Wine,” he said, pointing to her cup with a hand that shook slightly, “sounds like a good idea.” He strode inside, and she caught a whiff of sweat as he passed. She’d grown used to the odor of sweat over her time with the High Garda, so much so that she had learned the sweat of fear carried a scent slightly different from that of exertion. Jess smelled like the former.

Looking out into the back garden, she noticed first the blackened traybake, still sending up halfhearted wisps of smoke, and then something shiny, closer to the steps. It seemed familiar, and when she approached, she realized why.

Storming into the kitchen, she held it out to Thomas. “What is this?” she hissed under her breath so Jess, greeting Khalila and Dario at the door, wouldn’t hear. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Thomas, who had been poking at a chicken breast in a cast-iron pan, looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I thought he was cured,” she said. “You both let us all think he was cured!” She resisted the urge to throw the mask to the marble floor; she didn’t want to break it if it was the only thing keeping Jess alive.

Thomas blinked, then shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“I _understand_ ,” she interrupted, barely keeping hold of her rage, “that one of my closest friends is dying, _again_ , and neither of you had the _decency_ to let me know!”

“Glain, he’s not dying.” Thomas took the pan from the stove, then took the breathing mask from her hand and put it in a cupboard. “He—the traybake burned and the smoke—he…” Thomas trailed off and drew a deep, ragged breath, running a hand over his face, barely keeping himself together.

Suddenly, everything was clear.

“Oh,” she said, and sagged against the counter, her heart twisting as her rage faded. “Poor Jess.”

“Poor Jess,” Thomas agreed, sighing, before scraping chopped tomatoes and carrots from a cutting board into a bowl full of bright green lettuce.

“Give me that,” she said by way of apology; pulling on her stark soldier’s posture like a jacket, she grabbed the salad bowl, turning to carry it to the dining room. Before she left the kitchen, though, she had to stop to draw a deep breath and, her back to Thomas, blink away a relieved tear. She hadn’t realized just how frightened she’d been.

“Glain!” Khalila greeted her as she entered the dining room where Jess was pouring glasses of wine for the other guests, and a large one for himself. “It’s so good to see you.” She was wearing a cloth-of-gold hijab—her everyday version of the traditional gold Archivist’s robes. She’d explained that the robes were cumbersome and got in the way of things, and she was an Archivist of action rather than a figurehead behind a desk, so she wore practical clothing and saved the official robes for special occasions and affairs of state. The dress she wore was a rich dark blue, ankle-length, embroidered with floral patterns in gold thread.

Glain set the bowl of salad on the table and hugged Khalila. “It’s good to see you too.”

If Khalila noticed that Glain’s hug was a bit too long, a bit too tight, or that her smile was just a little bit fake, she didn’t mention it.

“My love, put down that wine and say hello to our friend,” she said, not unkindly.

“Apologies, flower.” Dario set down his goblet of sweet red wine and embraced Glain as well. “It truly is good to see you again.”

“Don’t get mushy on me now, Santiago.” Glain grinned and held out her glass for Jess to refill.

The bottle clinked against her glass more than once as he filled it; his hands were unsteady, and the expression on his face was just a little too happy, a bit too excited, and she knew it was at least partially a farce.

“Knock knock,” came Santi’s voice at the open front door.

“Saying _knock knock_ is utterly _pointless_ ,” grumbled Wolfe, rolling his eyes as he followed his lover inside.

“I see you’re in good spirits.” Glain shot a grin at Christopher.

“Good as ever.” They shared a firm handclasp, and despite his ever-present sarcastic attitude, there was genuine joy in his eyes.

Anit was last to arrive; she was the youngest in the group, but after hugging Jess and nodding politely at the others, she accepted her glass of white wine just as readily as the rest of them had.

Dinner was a lively affair, with Khalila repeatedly placing a warning hand on her husband’s arm to keep him from sharing the more intimate details of their honeymoon, Glain telling stories of the adventures she’d had in training the new High Garda recruits, and Anit and Jess discussing the progress on the bookshop they were in the process of opening together as business partners.

As the night wore on, Jess drank more and more wine, repeatedly filling his cup from whichever bottle was closest, until he swayed where he sat, and his cheeks were red, his words slurred.

He reached for the bottle of dry white as Glain passed it to Khalila, but Glain moved it out of his reach. “I think you’ve had enough, Jess.”

“I’m still upright, aren’t I?” he asked; the mask of a grin he’d worn the entire evening was cracking, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Barely.” Anit plucked the wine glass from his hand before he could react; there was still an inch or so of wine in the bottom, and she drained that, then set the cup down out of his reach.

“This is _my_ house, last time I checked,” Jess slurred.

“Actually,” said Khalila, “it’s the Library’s. You’re just a tenant.” With a sparkle in her eye, she drained the last ruby drops from her goblet.

“Oh, sod off, you great big Archivist, you,” Jess said, the words barely recognizable, and Glain genuinely couldn’t tell whether he was joking.

“ _Big?_ ” Khalila questioned. “I’ll take _great_ any day, but _big?_ ”

Jess didn’t seem to have heard; standing, he leaned on one hand on the tabletop and reached across place settings and the remainder of the salad for a bottle of wine.

“Jess, sit down,” Wolfe commanded tiredly.

“I just want,” he said, and then seemed to lose his train of thought. He made a clumsy grab for the bottle and succeeded in knocking it over.

“ _Verdammt,_ Jess,” Thomas growled as he set the bottle upright before it could make more than a dessert plate-sized stain on the white tablecloth.

“Some of the wine that _I bought_ ,” Jess finally finished, jabbing a finger at his own chest.

“You’ve had _most_ of the wine that you bought,” Santi pointed out.

“We’re cutting you off,” Dario agreed.

“Bloody hell,” Jess cursed, falling back into his chair. It tilted dangerously backward as his weight hit it, but settled back on all four feet; Jess didn’t seem to notice.

The conversation wore on, everyone tiptoeing around Jess’s heavily intoxicated temper. Khalila discussed her newest Curia member and what she contributed to the team. Anit spoke of the plans for her and Jess’s bookshop. Thomas talked about the improvements he was making to the press printer—no one understood his technical jargon except Scholar Wolfe, who listened intently, nodding approval every once in a while, with a wary glint in his eye and his hand gripping Santi’s under the table.

Though alcohol buzzed through her veins, Glain kept a wary eye on Jess, who had let his facade drop, too drunk to keep it up any longer.

** THOMAS **

Thomas held himself back from getting into the finer technical details of his press printer, not wanting to monopolize the conversation; when he finished describing the latest clever mechanism he’d devised to make printing books faster and easier, he smiled and sat back to let someone else take the helm.

Wolfe nodded approvingly, but there was something in his eyes, something familiar, something Thomas consciously hid behind a smile.

“Very good,” said the scholar. “Your press will be better than I ever dreamed mine would be.”

“Thank you, sir.” Thomas poured himself another half-glass of sour white wine. “If you have any ideas or suggestions, I would welcome them.”

“You wouldn’t have a choice,” Wolfe replied, raising his glass in salute before draining it. “Nic, we should go. It’s late, and you have an early morning.”

Two by two, their guests said their goodbyes and left, Wolfe and Santi walking out last.

On his way by, Wolfe grasped Thomas’s shoulder and leaned close, looking deep into his eyes. “Will you be alright?” His gaze flicked toward the overly inebriated young man in the dining room.

“Of course.” Thomas nodded and smiled. “Have a good night, Scholar.”

“Send us a Codex message if you need anything,” Santi added, taking Wolfe’s hand as they stepped outside.

Thomas shut the door behind them and returned to the dining room, where Jess slumped in his chair, chin on his chest, eyes shut.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said, shaking Jess’s shoulder.

Jess startled awake and sat upright; Thomas steadied him so he wouldn’t fall over.

“You’re alright,” he assured his friend. His own head was pleasantly heavy from drink, but he was still steady on his feet, which was more than he could say for Jess when he helped his friend up.

Jess swayed dangerously; Thomas grabbed his arm to keep him from falling on his ass. “Let _go_ ,” he slurred, and tried to pull away, but nowhere near hard enough for Thomas’s grip to falter.

“Come on, you drunkard, it’s time for bed.” Thomas pulled him to the stairs, then walked right behind him all the way up in case he lost his balance.

At the top of the stairs, he had to grab Jess to keep him from falling backward down the entire staircase; when he was steady again, they proceeded to Jess’s bedroom.

“Goodnight,” said Thomas when Jess was sitting, hollow-eyed, on his mattress. He was about to shut the door behind him when he heard Jess speak.

“Why are you so kind to me?” he asked.

“You would do the same for me. You _have_ done.”

“But I didn’t—I couldn’t—I should have been there, Thomas. I should have saved you.”

It took Thomas a moment to realize what Jess was referring to. “You’re blaming yourself for them taking me to prison, Jess? You know they would have got to me at some point, even if they’d had to go through you. And you found me. You _saved_ me. I would not have lasted much longer.” He shuddered at the memory of being prepared to scratch or bite through his skin and rip the veins from his wrists, just before his friends—his _real_ friends, not the hallucinations that had plagued him—had come to get him out. He crossed the room to sit on the bed beside his friend. “I don’t blame you. For any of it.”

“Maybe—you should,” Jess stammered, voice cracking. “Three months you were there. _Three months_.”

Thomas grabbed him by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length, looking into his streaming eyes. “Stop it. Do you hear me? Don’t go any further down this road, Jess. It’ll tear you apart.” He sighed as the tears in Jess’s eyes reflected the silver moonlight. “Though I can see it may be too late for that.”

“But I—”

“The moment I invent a time-travel machine, I will let you know. But as of now, we can’t change the past.” He gave Jess a shake. “We just have to push forward. And to do that, I need you with me.”

Jess nodded and melted against Thomas, who clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain calm, as he held Jess tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his face buried in Thomas’s shoulder.

“Stop,” Thomas chided him gently, though he struggled to fight back the memories trying to shove their way into the forefront of his mind.

Jess pulled away just enough to lift the collar of his shirt and wipe his eyes; he looked up at Thomas, and their faces were a breath apart. Neither of them spoke. Blood rushed in Thomas’s ears as he stared into Jess’s eyes.

Jess leaned closer, his eyes traveling a few inches downward, and—

“You’re drunk, Jess,” said Thomas, gently pushing him away. “You should go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he said, but laid down anyway.

By the time Thomas reached the doorway, Jess was snoring softly. He smiled sadly, his heavy heart fluttering, head full of cotton—that was probably just the wine. “Goodnight, Jess.”

**Author's Note:**

> I ship Thomas and Jess harder than I've ever shipped anyone in my life. XD


End file.
